


Too Turned Up

by sinkcat



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Adrenaline, Awkward Sexual Situations, Dark Comedy, Dehumanization, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Episode Related, Gen, Loyalty Kink, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mr. Robot POV, Mr. Robot is fucked in the head, Non-Explicit, Semi-public masturbation, Stream of Consciousness, This is the most fucked up thing I've ever written, Violent Fantasies, disturbing fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinkcat/pseuds/sinkcat
Summary: Mr. Robot is tasked with calming himself and Elliot down after the 5/9 hack. Takes place during "eps3.2_legacy.so".





	Too Turned Up

I drove Tyrell's SUV to a deserted parking lot like Irving wanted and now I'm just sitting here like a jackass.

I'd love to go home and get some shut-eye so I can be ready for my meeting with that sleezeball tomorrow, but something is holding me back:

We're too "turned up."

Is that what the kids say? I search through Elliot's mind. It's "turnt" up? Well, _that's_ fucking stupid.

Speaking of Elliot: He's in the backseat trying and failing to wake up. Over and over again. Elliot might be skinny as a beanpole, but trying to control him is like riding a bull. When is he going to quit fighting me and just let us do what we need to do?

I mean, I'm happy the kid shut the hell up and let me do the hack. He even let me shoot at Tyrell.

But that dumbass nearly popped out after Tyrell decided it was a bright idea to hug us.

The kid hates people touching him, but craves hugs. A walking paradox.

I need to remind that idiot that Tyrell is a fucking psycho. Don't jizz in your pants just because someone hugs you and says they love you. Christ.

Back to this godforsaken body. I didn't want to think about it, but I gotta be honest and admit that we're more than "turnt" up:

We're harder than a diamond in an ice storm and no amount of willpower is taming this thing.

I'd _much_ rather make Elliot take over and take care of this, but Elliot would freak the fuck out and ruin everything. So, I'll have to take care of this myself.

I scan the parking lot again to confirm that's it's still deserted before unzipping our pants and getting us ready.

Great. I don't know what to do. I'll need Elliot's help.

Combing through Elliot's memories, I find his favorite technique and begin to replicate it. Perfect.

What does he think about when he's going at it? Familiar blue, hazel, and brown-colored eyes appear in my mind. He has some kind of weird fascination with eyes. The kid couldn't be an ophthalmologist; he'd blow his load every time he had to do an eye exam.

Oh, and he thinks about sad, depressing shit. Jesus. When is this kid _not_ depressed?

None of this is helping and I'm starting to get really pissed off.

I need to think. I'm pretty sure we started getting revved up in the arcade. Maybe if I—

Tyrell pops up in my mind again. The whack job who told Elliot that he strangled a woman to death and _enjoyed it_. The freak who broke into a fit of laughter after I tried to _murder_ him. The fruit loop who started raving about us being "gods."

The man is so out of his mind, I wasn't that surprised when he decided to get down on his knees in front of us. I assumed he was gonna try to blow us and I'd have to pistol-whip him away from our dick.

Instead, he grabbed our wrist and forced the muzzle of my gun against his fucking forehead. He _begged_ me to pull the trigger.

 _That_ was a surprise.

The lunatic is actually willing to _die_ for the cause. None of the others — Mobley, Romero, Trenton, even Darlene — are as dedicated. Hell, Romero nearly shat his pants when I pulled a gun on him. Yet Tyrell treated my gun like it was his Lord and Savior.

And unlike the others, he'll kill for me.

Tyrell's manic smile flashes in my mind as he cuts down evil, capitalist pigs. I can feel a smile forming on our own face as I imagine their panicked screams. Their frozen, terrified expressions. Their putrid blood staining their ill-gotten "luxury" furniture and shrimp cocktails.

I can feel our body reacting and, as I look down, I notice that our left hand is moving at a frantic pace.

Our smile grows. For once, Tyrell is actually helping me.

With fine-tuned passion, he'll annihilate so many of these useless "people." He'll bring the world closer to _t_ _rue_ freedom.

And after all his hard work is done, I'll command him to kill himself.

With unquestioning obedience, he'll press the barrel of my gun against his right temple. He'll do it with a wide grin stretching across his pale face. With tears pouring from his bright blue eyes. Pure fear and, ultimately, acceptance.

The pulled trigger. The deafening bang. Tyrell's body collapsing as it paints the walls and floor with his devotion.

Like Tyrell's head, I'm exploding, too.

There's a vague awareness of the low moan that escapes us, our fingernails digging into the armrest, as our body perfectly unwinds.

I slump down into the seat for a few minutes allowing the endorphins to do their work and leave.

So _that's_ what an orgasm is.

I remember once suggesting to Elliot to go jerk off when he was thinking about snitching on himself. I knew it was something to do if you wanted to unwind, but if _that_ was jerking off?

Well, now I can kind of understand why Elliot would rather do stupid shit like this than lead the revolution.

Speaking of Elliot: That kid is _finally_ asleep. No more wake up attempts for a while.

Unfortunately for me, our eyelids are starting to feel heavy and I'm starting to lose track of my thoughts.

Falling asleep in Tyrell's SUV is the exact opposite of a good decision, but we need this. I'll just nap for 10 minutes and then go home. I quickly set our phone alarm and do another parking lot scan before settling back into the seat.

As I drift off to dreamland, a single sentence bubbles up in my mind:

We'll be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned previously, I was inspired by episode "eps3.2_legacy.so," which explored Mr. Robot and Tyrell's relationship a lot more.
> 
> I was also heavily inspired by the Mr. Robot: Red Wheelbarrow book, which revealed that Mr. Robot is somehow even *more* fucked up than he is in the tv show.
> 
> I'm required to mention that the phrase "harder than a diamond in an ice storm" is from the comedy film "Talladega Nights: The Ballad Of Ricky Bobby."
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic. If you can, please leave a comment. I love feedback. Thanks.


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